Building Bridges
by LiteratiAngel
Summary: Silence is golden? Ha! That’s what they tell you but it’s not true. It’s a big, fat elephant of pressure in a room…but the worst silences are the ones that last over long distances. Lit. Alternated POVs. Rated T for language. Reviews are love. Finished!
1. Silence is golden

**Building Bridges**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Gilmore Girls. The show and its characters belong to the WB network and the creative genius of Amy Sherman Palladino. If I *did* own it...well...let's just say that certain things would have ended differently...or not at all! I also don't own The Clash or anyone or anything else mentioned in this fic.**

**A/N: This fic is dedicated to Jamie, my best friend and long-suffering proof reader. Because we're a hell of a lot more like Rory and Jess than you think and because our song was a partial inspiration for this story. Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for being you.  
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Silence is golden

_Silence is golden_? Ha! That's what they tell you but it's not true. Silence is what it is-silent. It has no colour, no taste, no smell and above all, no sound. It's a big, fat elephant of pressure in a room…but the worst silences are the ones that last over long distances.

Those silences start with a phonecall. You'd think that would lift the tension but there's no sound at the other end. Only the rush of cars, the skid of skateboards, the scuffling of awkward shoes. Those silences end with the click of a door, the pounding of feet on concrete stairs. The dial tone, filling your head with a continuous bleep, like a heart monitor whose patient has crashed.

That's the thing they don't tell you about silence-it's actually the loudest thing on earth. But it's not about the sounds you hear, it's all about the ones you should hear but aren't coming out. The words from your own mouth, spilling out in one long, harsh knife stab, his breath on the other end of the phone line. Ragged. Sighing. But no words. Never any words. No…emotion.

I'm a master at monosyllable translation. Seriously, I should write the book. 'Cause you see, I dated it-the master of play it cool, fuck the consequences.

Books. The only form of communication he actually managed to grasp. It was always our little secret. He would read to me, long rambling passages about life and love. I always used to dream that it was his own unique way of showing me that he cared. He wrote one for me, you know. _The Subsect_. It woke me up out of a stupor, told me how much I'd screwed up my life. Screwed up his too.

_It is what it is. You. Me._

It's the little throwaway observations that rip you apart the most. Ever since that _Dodger_ came into my life, my soul has been slowly tearing itself apart. Little frayed pieces that could only be stitched together by a smirk. A crooked, knowing smile. It started with Hemingway and a tranquil bridge. I was such an open book. _Ernest only has lovely things to say about you._ It ended, or so I thought, in a poky publishers' office with a kiss and a confession. _And I couldn't even cheat on him the way he cheated on me! _

In the end, it was me who destroyed it. Petty revenge tactics were never really my thing. Certainly not when it involved him. I couldn't be that damn callous because he's stood there, looking at me with those deep, sad brown pools and all I could see was that fucking petrol pump and a limp cigarette. _Did I…do something?_ He always thought it was his fault. He was always waiting, thinking he was on the brink of screwing up because he'd done that with everyone else so why not me, right?

He was so…complacent, so damn understanding. As if was ok that I'd just kissed him and was running out on him to be with some bastard who'd cheated on me because I _loved_ him. Ha.

So really, it was all me. My fault. My screw-ups. So now, instead of sitting on bridges, debating Hemingway, I need to start building them. And that starts with breaking the silence. 180 miles of elephant pressure. A hell of a lot further than 22.8 and I can't fix it by using Yahoo.

That's what brought me to where I am now. Sat on my little bed, holding my cell phone, fingers poised to dial. Another dial tone, but this time I'll actually go through with it. So that's it. Punching the numbers in now. Hitting the taunting green call button…

A click and he picks up…oh god, what do I say?…

_Jess?_


	2. Plenty more fish in the sea

Plenty more fish in the sea

So there I was, minding my own business when out of blue, I get a phone call. Nothing totally out of the ordinary when you think about it, I mean, people get phone calls all the time-friends, relatives, acquaintances, business deals, cold calls, etc, right? It's just that fucked up reformed delinquents don't tend to get too many of the friendly wish-you-were-here-I-miss-you calls, do they? So naturally, I assumed it was either a business call or some twat in a call centre trying to sell me double-glazing. Oh boy how wrong I was. So I pick up the phone, ready to either kiss their ass or flip them off but there's a sort of snuffling, like someone trying to avoid blowing their nose, at the other end of the line and then, _Jess?_ Shit.

It's her. I've never fully understood why her voice has this effect on me. It's just a voice, after all, nothing special, but there's something in the way she says my name that makes my heart practice its Cirque du Soleil party piece and opens the door of my stomach up to every type of butterfly and tells the bouncers to take the night off.

I need a drink. And a smoke. And meaningless sex. Not necessarily in that order. Christ! She's just a girl! Get over it and move on, right? Plenty more fish in the sea and all that jazz? I mean, last time I saw her, it seemed like she was still interested but look how that turned out. Her going off to see Blonde Dick at Yale and me sat alone in the office like the pathetic idiot that I am. I couldn't even enjoy booze for about a month afterwards. I tried to quit smoking. I was practically a monk for god's sake! Now if that isn't pining, I don't know what is 'cause that's all I've got-alcohol, nicotine and sex. And books. But I couldn't take abstaining from books. It would kill me. It would probably kill her too. Just another thing I could do to fuck up her life.

She didn't really want much. Just wanted to talk. Well, _what is much_, right? 'Cause talking to her is about the last thing I need right now. Not when she still has this stupid fever-pitch effect on me. She'll blow cold again next week. Decide it's too dangerous. All I have to do is wait for the knife in my heart to be twisted again and then I can relax. Have it removed.

I've never really understood how she could move on and I couldn't. Nothing means anything anymore. That's fine with me if I'm honest, I don't really need anyone to mean anything. It's just that, as much as I hate to admit it, she's changed me. I know what I'm missing now. _I think I may have loved you but I just need to let it go_. Well I should do that too. Let it go. Shouldn't I?

Except I can't.


	3. Too many cooks

Too many cooks…

What's that saying? Too many cooks spoil the broth? I'm beginning to understand why now. My mom wants to get Luke in on this phone call too now. So he's Luke's nephew, so what?

I never really intended to tell my mother that I was in contact with him, it just happened, honest. In contact? Is that really the way to describe what we are? It was only the one phone call and I was so damn terrified of screwing everything up even more that I hardly said anything. So now who's the Tony Manaro wannabe, huh? Oh god, there I go again. James Dean-ing it.

Play it cool, fuck the consequences. So I spoke to him. Nice and casual…or so I like to think. General stuff, nothing to deep or accusing. Just how we are (lies, of course) and what's new in our lives (more lies…or rather, just omitting certain truths, like being proposed to). Keeping it all as light and flimsy as possible. I tell you, less substance in conversation is the way to go. We're gonna talk again next week. That's how my mom found out.

You know, sometimes I think I'm a lovesick seventeen-year-old all over again and it worries me. I'd drawn a heart around the date of our scheduled call on my calendar and not only is that giving me a severe case of the don't even get me started on the inferences of this, but it's downright teenage!

So of course my mom spotted it. Not so sharp when she's looking for the Pop Tarts but she's eagle-eyed when it comes to my…personal life. It was her graduation day all over again. _Maybe you don't have a medical condition or a mental problem. Maybe, honey, you are falling for Jess._ But she doesn't understand. I don't want to date him. I just want to fix things.

I think.


	4. Every cloud has a silver lining

Every cloud has a silver lining

Ok, so I was wrong. She didn't change her mind. So it must be different this time, right? Or not.

We got into an argument. It's always the way, isn't it? You think everything's ok and then you find out that she's really been lying to you all along. He proposed to her. The bastard proposed to her. Why couldn't I ever have the guts to do that? She knew it, knew that I would've got down on one knee, right there and then in Truncheon if she'd stayed. That's why she didn't tell me.

She said no but that's not the point anymore, is it? We're exposed now. So much for keeping it light and pointless. We both know that there's so much more that we have to talk about still and what's worse is that we want to talk about it.

_You ended up not taking me to the prom and not going to my graduation and leaving again without saying goodbye._

I'm sorry. I fucked up. Yet again. Just another Jess Mariano screw-up. She should be used to it by now but I could hear her, pouring her heart out, screwing with my head and there's that sinking feeling in my gut. I've disappointed her again, like I've disappointed everyone else.

I liked it when nothing mattered, when no one cared if I screwed up, when no one was proud of me or dependant on me. She had Dean. She was fine. If I hadn't walked into her life, she'd have gone to the prom, her boyfriend would have been at her graduation…mentioned in her valedictorian speech. _I made sure she was ok._ She wouldn't have been in a car accident.

I'm sorry. I fucked up. But so did you.

_I don't deserve this Rory!_

It's ok for you, all those people who love you, who'll care for you when your heart is broken. What have I got? I've had my heart ripped out by you. Who's gonna fix me, huh?

But every cloud's got a silver lining, right? Something that makes all the crap worthwhile?

I just can't see it right now.


	5. Can't teach an old dog new tricks

Can't teach an old dog new tricks

I should've known. They always say you can't teach an old dog new tricks and they're right. We'd only been talking for five minutes and we broke out into an argument! It's different now, though because before, we argued about not talking and now that there's no silence, we want to talk and don't know if we should.

_You're not going to talk? Fine. I'll talk. You didn't handle things right at all. You could've talked to me. Told me that you were having trouble at school and weren't going to graduate._

I want to tell him how much he hurt me. How much he screwed everything up for me. All that time away from me and then turning up out of the blue thinking that it would all go away. _I love you_. Three little words don't change a whole year of having your heart ripped out again and again. Trying to hide my feelings from my mother, from his uncle, from the whole damn town. And then he goes and leaves me again. Always in and out of my life. Ships that pass in the night. But I've had enough. I want more. I've always wanted more from him.

So I'm here again. Clutching my cell phone. Ready to hear his voice for the last time.

A click and he picks up.

_I'm done._


	6. No use crying over spilt milk

No use crying over spilt milk

What is it with me and phone calls at the moment? I should just stop touching the phone. Let it gather dust until Matthew decides to into Spring Cleaning Fairy mode again. Let everyone else field the calls. I swear, I should've got caller ID installed months ago. _I'm done._

_I'm done_? What the hell's that supposed to mean? I'm gonna call you up, tell you I wanna talk again and then bail when the going gets tough? That's not how it works!

We have one argument and she's done. That's it. Finished. Finito. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Done.

Well that's fine. I can take it. No use crying over spilt milk, right? This works out fine for me too. No more keeping my mouth shut about how she makes me feel. No more false hope. No more lies or misunderstandings.

I've spent so long trying not to fuck everyone's lives up. Watching my whack job mother and all her crack head boyfriends going at it in the kitchen, not saying anything because I didn't need her hating me. Stuck on a stench-filled bus, headed to Hell but knowing that anywhere was better than what I'd left behind. Screwing up Luke's life just by breathing. That's a hell of a lot of milk.

Meeting her. Letting her change my life. Messing with Dean's head, just so I could spend time with her. _Basket. Basket maker…Guy who didn't bring enough money_. $90 worth of time.

No more dance marathons. I can cope with that but that also means no more speeding heartbeats. No more stolen kisses. No more Rory. Oh god.

No more Rory.


	7. Birds of a feather flock together

Birds of a feather flock together

Well that was unexpected. I mean, birds of a feather flock together, I get that but seriously, it's been over a year.

I didn't expect him to fight for me. It was childish and, well hell, let's just say it, downright futile and we both knew it so I wasn't surprised, if maybe a tiny bit disappointed, when he didn't call.

I had it all planned out what I was gonna do if he did. Well, maybe, anyway. It was a choice of two options; cut the call off-pro: it saves on the long-distance charge and shows him that I'm still pissed with him, con: I don't get to hear his voice for very long and I won't find out what he's got to say-or tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth-pro: it gets it off my chest and makes it his problem too, con: it makes me vulnerable and it might all be for nothing. Damn my fucking pro/con lists!

Turned out I didn't need them anyway. He didn't call. A whole fucking year and he didn't contact me once! Not even a Christmas card! _Did you send me a letter? Postcard? Smoke signal? A nice fruit basket?_

So of course he was the last person I expected to see when I went to the classics convention in Hartford. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised, really. I mean, books are always gonna be our thing, I just didn't think I was ever gonna see him again. But there he was, standing next to the modern classics, clutching a First Edition Bukowski, _Factotum_, and a glass of champagne.

And all of a sudden, I'm dropping my copy of _Swann's Way _and walking over to him. So much for pro/con lists, huh? _Note to self: impulsive doesn't work for me_. But I just kept thinking that it might be different this time. I just…wanted to know what it would be like. Again.

So there I am, kissing him, amidst First Edition Nietzsche and Tolstoy, and all I can think is…well, that's the point, I can't think. It's a mind-numbing kiss. All my senses felt cut off, like I couldn't breathe unless I was with him. He's my oxygen.

Wow.


	8. Damned if you do and damned if you don't

Damned if you do and damned if you don't

Luke sent through the usual monthly care package last week. It's nothing special; some brownies, a letter from my mom and the walking Etch-A-Sketch, a small packet of cash (I always let him know how pissed I get about that) and some flyers of town events 'cause he likes to think he can do subtle invites. He can't.

But in amongst the flyers for all of Taylor's weird charity festivals, there's one that catches my eye. It's not actually in Stars Hollow-and let me tell you, just seeing that makes me a breathe a sigh of relief-it's in Hartford. A classics convention. Stuffy and boring are the first words that spring to mind but then I spotted that they've actually got a section devoted to First Editions of the likes of Ginsberg and Cassady-a Beatnik's heaven!

I never dreamed I'd see her there. Thought she was off reporting on the Obama campaign. Actually, maybe hoped is a better word.

I'd been seeing this other girl for a while. Katy. She's got sort of purplish curls, brown eyes. Petite, mischievous and stunning.

But there she is. My weakness. Standing about 10 feet away from me, clutching a First Edition of Swann's Way and looking at me as if I'm the only person in the room. _You're a booktease_. She's crossing the room, still staring and before I have time to turn and walk away, her mouth's clamped onto mine and my tongue's slipping down her throat. Damn her! But that's the thing, isn't it? I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Fuck it. I'll pay for this later.

Might as well enjoy it now.


	9. The pen is mightier than the sword

The pen is mightier than the sword

So here's my schedule since my little…ahem…mistake at the classics convention:

1. Never ever tell my mother that I kissed Jess. (Kissed? More like ate his face!) Again. Damn.

2. Ram my head through a brick wall to make sure that my plea of temporary insanity holds up.

3. Contact Jess and explain the whole temporary insanity concept…better write to him, ringing him is too risky. After all, it wouldn't exactly help me to explain the situation if I end up as a puddle of Rory jelly on the floor at the sound of his voice, would it?

4. Stop reading books-they make me do crazy things!…Actually, scratch that one. I couldn't survive without books.

All of a sudden, I'm reminded of my summer in Washington. _Dear Jess_. Page upon page of my notebook filled with his name. The letter I couldn't write. Because I wasn't sure? Because I was so sure. Because I didn't want him? Because I wanted him too much. Because I shouldn't have kissed him? Because I had to kiss him. Because it wasn't what I expected? Because it was all that and more.

I couldn't write it because I was so fucking terrified. It scared me just how much I needed to be around him. My addiction.

Letters to Dean were easy. Letters to Dean were safe. I was supposed to kiss Dean. I didn't have to tell him not to say anything. _Very flattering, by the way_.

But Jess? Well, as past and recent evidence suggests, Jess' presence does things to me that makes me lose both my mind and my sense of judgement. _I can't catch my breath!_

Ok, here goes. I don't want to hurt him, though. After all, the pen is mightier than the sword, isn't it?

I wonder what sort of effect I have on him. Do I have any?

I don't know what I want to say. Oh well, I guess I'll figure something out.

_Dear Jess…_


	10. All's fair in love and war

All's fair in love and war

_Dear Jess,_

Bit of a mundane start, really. I would have expected better from a journalist. Especially a political journalist, I mean, they're supposed to be good at making something sound better than it is, aren't they?

Ok, so the bitterness is uncalled for. Sort of. I'm just not so sure that I want to read this. No, scratch that. I wasn't sure when I picked it up from my mailbox this morning. Now I'm seeing my name written out in her neat loopy handwriting and the blotchy ink further down the page when she started crying and I'm positive that I don't want to read this. Fuck. Here goes.

~*~

_Dear Jess,_

_This letter is a long time in coming but I think fruit baskets are a little contrived and I'd be breaking pollution laws or something silly like that if I sent a smoke signal, so it was either this or a postcard and since I'm not entirely sure if I "wish-you-were-here", I went with the safe option. At this point you're probably thinking "good old safe Rory", and you'd be right._

_This is the fifteenth version of this letter and the only one that hasn't made it into the trash yet so its outlook is good so far. It's probably not the sort of letter you keep until you're eating your food through a straw and showing your keepsakes to the grandkids but I hope it's still important to you._

_If I'm honest, I don't understand why people do that-hoard everything that has any sort of sentimental value, and yet my Jess Box grows in monumental proportions every time I see you. Its most recent addition is my ticket stub from the classics convention._

_I'm sorry. "Sorry"-it feels like the weakest word in the world right now. It's funny how words lose power as they gain meaning, isn't it? But I've got a lot to apologise for. And so have you. Don't get me wrong though, I felt so guilty for what I did both at Truncheon and in Hartford. I don't want you to think that I didn't enjoy kissing you or that it didn't mean anything, it's just that you shouldn't have to be subjected to the crazy way my mind (and my mouth!) works whenever I'm around you._

_I'm also sorry for trying to pressure you into taking Dean's place. You're not Dean, you never were and you never will be and if I'm being totally honest, I didn't want you to be. I wanted you as you were, no exaggerations or embellishments. Just you. But I didn't know how the whole second boyfriend thing was supposed to go, especially when the whole town was used to me being with Dean and thought I was making a huge mistake in being with you. Everyone always thinks I'm so damn fragile but you let me be myself and I could just never fathom why I couldn't do the same for you._

_And now we get down to it. The real reason for this letter. All the time you were gone (a subject for another time, I think), I lied more than I have ever done. I told everyone that it didn't matter that your were gone, that I'd cope, that my feelings for you weren't that strong-thinking that if I said it enough, I'd start to believe it too._

_I threw myself into school, thinking that Yale, with its beautiful (draughty!) libraries and the brightest minds in the country could cure my aching need for you but it just compounded this ache further because I wanted to share it all with you. We studied "The Sun Also Rises" in my Modern Lit. class and I barely paid any attention because all I could do was wonder what you would have written in your margin notes. I'm sure that at this point, you're warming up to utter a "huh" but if you could, I'd like you to hold it in for a little while. I get the feeling that you're going to need it later because I'm still not quite finished._

_The truth is that I have no idea why I kissed you. I have a weakness for you, Jess, and I think it's safe to assume that it's not the sort of weakness that fades over time._

_You give me butterflies in a way that no one else has ever done. They're the sort of butterflies that leave your stomach churning with nerves, but I love that feeling. You make me nervous and yet I'm so comfortable around you. It's true that it's the most amazing feeling in the world when you find someone who compliments and completes you absolutely, but there's just something about not knowing what that person is going to do next that makes love so exciting._

_I suppose what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that I'm willing to fight for you. Fight for us, really. And even if at the end of this fight you decide that you don't want this too, I want you to know that you were, and still are, worth it. All of it._

_I'm forever yours._

_Love,_

_Your Rory_

_p.s. feel free to "huh" now._

~*~

Huh.

For once, I'm speechless. _I'm forever yours_. Wow. Now that was unexpected. I was anticipating an "I fucked up, don't contact me" sort of letter, not a love letter.

I suppose I should reply. I mean, that's not exactly the sort of letter that you can leave hanging, is it? I can have a bit of fun though, right? I mean, they do say that all's fair in love and war.

Love, huh? Yeah. That feels about right.

_Dear Rory…_


	11. Absence makes the heart grow fonder

**A/N: As Jess said in his post-script, sorry that the letter is so crappy. I wanted it to be less than Rory's was but I'd had the idea of Jess leaving her a message in a note for a while now and it was only when I sat down to write this chapter that I realised just how damn difficult it is to hide a message with that many vowels! See if you can spot it before you read the end of the chapter...good luck...**

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Absence makes the heart grow fonder

My hand is trembling. I honestly can't believe that he replied to that stupid letter. I didn't plan it, I rambled on like a crazy person and I told him that I loved him. Well, not in so many words but the inferences were there!

Oh god, that's why he's replied. He's written to tell me that he doesn't want anything to do with me…Wait a minute…What the hell am I sitting here worrying about it for? It's right in front of me, I should just open the damn thing and get it over with!

Here goes.

~*~

_Dear Rory,_

_I'm not sure what to say in answer to your letter. Flowing prose was never really my forte, despite the whole writer thing, but I'll give it a go anyway._

_Love? Are you sure? I mean, it's been years. You could be happily shacked up with that blonde prick. You don't need me ruining your life any more than I've already done._

_Or are you just messing with my head again? I don't need that, Rory. If you meant what you said, I need to know for real. Prove it._

_Very well done for reading the Hemingway, by the way. I never thought you'd manage it. That stolen phone call seems like it happened a lifetime ago. I stole that bracelet. I just thought you should know._

_Everything's changed, though, Rory. We're older, supposedly wiser. Is this really the way you want to go?_

_You're so different from me, even though we've got so much in common it never seemed to be enough._

_Oh, I've thought about it, sure. I never really got over you, you know. It sounds pathetic to admit that but it has to be said._

_Underneath all of this, well, bravado, for want of a better word, I'm still not sure if I want to go through all the crap again. _

_There's a lot of water under the bridge with us but I don't know if our history is a good base to start a fresh relationship on._

_Ok, so, I guess I need to stop being bitter about this now._

_Oh, and I don't need an answer to this letter. _

_Jess_

~*~

I'm almost in tears as I reach the end. He doesn't want me. It was so full of hate! I didn't know that I'd been such a heartless bitch to him. So I look back at the page and try to read it again, hoping that I've missed something and there's a p.s. at the bottom.

_p.s. turn over._

So I nearly rip the page as I frantically turn it over, but who cares, right?

_p.s. Sorry that was such a crappy letter. I found out the hard way that it's really difficult to leave a hidden message with so many vowels! Read the first letter of every paragraph. Sorry it's not keepsake-worthy…Oh, and open your door…_

I actually did tear the paper slightly this time. Hidden message? Seriously? It's so unlike him.

_I. L.O.V.E. Y.O.U. T.O.O._

It's the sweetest thing I've ever read and now I can see the Jess I knew and loved…love. In this message, for my eyes only, there's the Jess who looked up the distance from Stars Hollow to Yale. _22.8 miles._ There's the Jess who wrecked a snowman just so I could win a stupid competition. _It's so overdone!_ There's the Jess who stole my copy of "Howl", just so he could enlighten me with his thoughts. _I just wanted to put some notes in the margins for you._

So there I am, walking over to my door, just like his letter told me to. From the other side, I can smell fresh coffee wafting towards my nose-the burnt scent of my life's elixir-and I can tell that it's paint-stripper strong. Perfect.

I open the door and there he is, smirking and holding an extra-large to go cup. And I realise that my memory hasn't been doing him justice. He's even more perfect than I remember him. But they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Even if it's only been a few weeks. He smiles, that rare dazzling smile.

I'm home.


	12. Actions speak louder than words

Actions speak louder than words

She looks like a fucking goldfish! I'm stood there holding a boiling cup of coffee and she's ignoring it and staring at me as if she hasn't seen me in years. I love it.

My memory hasn't been doing her justice. Her hair's all mussed, her make-up's smudged everywhere and she's wearing these ridiculous Hello Kitty pyjamas…and she's perfect. Just as she was when I first walked into her room all those years ago. _I knew the first time I saw you._

Suddenly, I've forgotten the coffee cup too. It's lucky her floor is linoleum because it would be hell to clean off the carpet. Well, that's what I would be thinking if I could think right now but all my senses are buzzing with Rory. My heart's racing, my breathing is irrational and the butterflies in my stomach are doing the can-can. _Here come the pom-poms!_

I know that speaking would be impossible as I pull away from her and so I look at her, into those beautiful blue stars and I lose myself. Again. Until she's pulling me back into a world of bright, accentuated colours.

But I figure it's not all bad that I can't talk right now, 'cause we all know that actions speak louder than words. Goodbye doubts.

Hello Rory.


	13. No more clichés

Epilogue: No more clichés

My blouse is on the chair, my work trousers forgotten by the bathroom door…and I'm curled up on the sofa in my favourite fluffy dressing gown, my head leaning against Jess' chest as he plays with my hair.

It's been two years since he turned up at my apartment door and spilt coffee all over my floor. Nothing much has changed since then, except less coffee is spilt. We're still together. We're happy. Happy? Doesn't really do it justice. Ecstatic? Nah. Elated? Nope. Blissful? Maybe. Perfect? Oh yeah, perfect is exactly the right word.

He's sighing and my head bobs up and down on his chest in sync with his breathing. I stare at my left hand, and the tiny blue diamond sparkling on its ring finger. Blue to match my eyes, was his reasoning. Yet another reason for me to love him.

Neither of us say anything. The room is so quiet, only the sounds of our intermittent breathing and Jess' light humming. _Ah, but which Clash song? _Guns of Brixton. I feel content in the silence.

I promised myself a long time ago that there would be no more clichés but somehow I'm reminded of that little phrase; silence is golden. Silence is what it is-silent. It has no colour, no taste, no smell and above all, no sound. Silence is golden? Yeah.

Right now, I could believe that.


End file.
